Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and elements from A Song of Ice and Fire belong to George R.R. Martin. No copyright infringement is intended.

"Is it true, Jon?" Sansa asked him.

Jon didn't have to ask what she was talking about. Somehow word had spread to every corner of the realm, though he was sure Queen Daenerys was doing her best to suppress it. Gossip like that was surely dangerous to her. "Howland Reed swears it is."

Sansa was impressed. "Just think, you might have been King of all the Seven Kingdoms," she said. She had a dreamy look on her face, like the ones she'd worn when they were children listening to romantic tales.

She was not his sister. Jon realized for the first time what the truth of his parentage truly meant. It was not just a missed chance at a throne or the vindication of knowing his parents had been a prince and great lady and they had loved each other. It meant that Sansa Stark was his cousin. It was acceptable for cousins to wed so surely it couldn't be any offense against the gods for a man to notice the way his cousin's breasts strained against her gown.

"Jon Targaryen," Sansa sighed.

Jon liked the sound of it too, but he had to correct her. "There is no evidence that Prince Rhaegar wed Lyanna. I am still a bastard."

"But he imight/i have wed her," Sansa argued. "Maester Luwin taught us that the old Targaryen kings took more than one wife, remember?"

"Careful," Jon cautioned her. "We don't want anyone to think we're plotting to lay claim to Daenerys's throne."

"There are no spies in the walls of Winterfell," Sansa replied. "It's isafe/i."

It ifelt/i safe. The great walls still stood high and strong and the repairs to the buildings within were nearly complete. The hall was warm and full of cheery voices. It was almost like being home again. But the servants were all new and it was only him and Sansa at the high table. Father and Robb and Arya and Bran and Rickon were dead, and the home he'd known was gone.

His face must have shown what he was thinking because Sansa said, "I miss them too."

He felt their loss more keenly here than he had at Castle Black. When he'd taken his horse to the stable, Arya had not been there pestering the stableboys. Bran was not climbing the façade of the First Keep. Robb was not waiting for him in the armory. Rickon had not come running to greet him when he'd ridden into the courtyard. And Eddard Stark, the only father he had ever known, was not sitting in the high seat. Their bones rested down in the crypt, all but Bran's whose bones were lost somewhere far beyond the Wall.

He was only here for a brief visit. In a week he would ride back to Castle Black and be kept busy re-organizing the Night's Watch, sparing only occasional moments for old memories. Sansa lived here. Jon wondered how she coped with the memories that perhaps kept her sorrow fresher than his. Her hands were clasped in her lap and Jon reached for them, trying to offer her a measure of comfort.

She squeezed his hands. "It's so good to have you here, Jon. When I thought everyone else was dead – though they weren't yet – I used to think of you and hope I could see you again one day."

Her eyes were wide and blue like her mother's had been, but Sansa's eyes shone with warmth and that made them beautiful. The light of the fire made her fair skin glow. She was beautiful. And she was not his sister, not anymore.

"You look almost look like Father now," she was saying, "Though I don't remember ever seeing him without his beard."

Jon winced. She may not be his sister now, but he had been her big brother once. He shouldn't feel like kissing her.

"My father, not yours," she clarified, though it was not necessary since he knew she'd never seen his father. Rhaegar Targaryen had died long before she was born, before even Jon had been born. "You share your mother's look quite strongly, not your father's."

"You look like your mother too," Jon told her, though he found her lovelier than Catelyn Stark.

"So I've been told," Sansa said, her voice sounding harder.

He wanted to ask what had happened to her, but he knew it had not been anything good. It would likely sadden her to speak of it, and anger him, so he preferred not to know. "You must not lack for suitors. Will you wed again soon?" he asked her instead.

"In time," Sansa said. "I am still mourning my…husband."

If the rumors about her were as true as the rumors about him, it was not Lord Arryn Sansa was mourning. Jon did not question her about that either. "I'll want to meet him when you settle on a suitor."

She smiled. "You will attend the wedding, of course. Surely the Night's Watch can spare you for your cousin's wedding."

"I'll be there."

Sansa's fingers had begun stroking his palm. The sensation was nearly erotic, although he was sure it was just an innocent gesture. She probably didn't even realize she was doing it. Jon disentangled his hands from hers.

"Perhaps you could visit the Wall one day."

"I will," she said. "It will be ever so frightening but you'll be there to protect me."

It almost sounded like she was flirting with him. Jon stared at her. He froze, unable to stop her, when she leaned towards him and put her mouth to his. His lips were slightly parted and her tongue swept between them. There was no doubting her meaning now. This was not the dry peck on the cheek she'd given him back when he was her brother.

"People will talk," he said hoarsely when she'd stopped.

She glanced at the lower tables where retainers and servants were looking up at them and whispering to each other. "Let them talk," she said. But she settled back into her seat. "You could come to my bed tonight."

"My vows forbid it."

"They say you've broken those vows, for two different women. Do you love me less than you loved them?"

His love for her was still the love of a brother for his sister. Wasn't it? "Sansa…"

"You're the only one I have left, Jon."

He said nothing. But after the castlefolk had retired for the night, he crept out of his bed chamber and into hers. He did not have to go far. She used the chambers that had belonged to her lady mother and she had given him her father's chambers.

Sansa was awake – and nude, as he saw when she drew back the covers. Jon removed his bed clothes and climbed in beside her, feeling as nervous as he'd felt his first time with Ygritte. Sansa started it; she kissed him and brought his hand to her breasts. Her nipples were already peaked and Jon twisted them lightly.

Perhaps she had been touching herself, anticipating his arrival, because when he slid his hand between her legs, he found her wet already. She pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him. Her hair bounced around her, as did her breasts, as she rode him. Jon realized he'd only ever bedded red-haired women and laughed softly.

"Do I amuse you?" Sansa asked, smiling.

He'd rather not tell her why he'd laughed, so Jon sat up and kissed her. Although she was silent when she climaxed, Jon moaned her name when he did. As he lay with her cuddled in his arms, Jon thought how different his life would have been if Rhaegar had won the Battle of the Trident. The great castle he slept in could have been his own, and the highborn beauty could have been his lady wife.

"Sweet dreams, Jon," Sansa murmured.

"You, too," he whispered.